


Sanctuary of Sharp Need and Gentle Praise

by orphan_account, twangcat



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Blow Job, Charlie looks so pretty when he cries, Dom Merlin, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, M/M, Merlin is going to have a lot of explaining to do when the mission is over, Minister Charles Hesketh is up for the Worst Father Award, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Shame kink, Sub Charlie, a REALLY long blow job, everything is consensual even if it is not planned ahead, judging Merlin on his soft appearance is everyone's first mistake, more tags to be added as chapters are posted, there is more to Charlie than meets the eye
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:43:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twangcat/pseuds/twangcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin hates these things--parties full of important people in expensive clothes talking about absolutely nothing of substance--he’s just here to get the USB from his source to prove there really is something shady going on with Minister Hesketh.  A task made infinitely more difficult by his son following him around like a trained puppy.</p>
<p>Charlie’s just trying to please his father, he thinks it will be easy to charm this harmless-looking Merlin fellow and find out who he really works for like his father requested.  He’s not expected to be blown off--repeatedly.  </p>
<p>Angry and desperate not to fail, Charlie follows Merlin to a private room.  When Charlie confronts him, they’re both surprised by how determined Charlie is to please--and how much Merlin likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary of Sharp Need and Gentle Praise

**Author's Note:**

> This story really is taking a village and TC and I want to thank our knights of the round table: littlegirllostexplores, marveling-cg, harryunwin, and angelycdevil for cheerleading and encouraging and brainstorming titles and just generally putting up with all manner of ridiculousness associated with this fic.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Merlin folded himself into the seat across from Chester and willed himself to remain patient.  He hated these meetings where he had to beg for Chester’s approval, and he suspected Chester did as well--if for different reasons.  He spared them both the tedium of exchanging pleasantries and launched right in.  “I need to send an agent on a pick-up.  Preferably Galahad or Percival.”  Merlin was careful to modulate his tone so that it sounded like a request and not an order.  

 

Chester leaned forward slightly.  “Is this for an ongoing operation?”

 

Merlin gave a slight shake of his head.  “A new one.”

 

Chester’s eyebrow raised slightly.  “What’s the package?”

 

“A USB with financial data on Minister Charles Hesketh.”  Merlin tapped on his clipboard to pull up the minister’s photo.  A hologram of a still quite good looking man, despite being slightly overweight and middle-aged, sprang into existence to the left of Chester’s desk.

 

Chester’s gaze flickered over to the image dispassionately before coming back to rest on Merlin.  “Who is our source?”

 

Merlin tapped the clipboard again and a different picture appeared next to the first.  “A member of the minister’s staff.”

 

Chester nodded.  “With whom did they initiate contact?”

 

Feeling the need to be cautious, Merlin shifted slightly in his seat.  This would be where he needed to start watching every word.  Manipulating the head of kingsman into giving him what he wanted was never easy, but Merlin practiced frequently.  “Me.”

 

“Not an agent?”  The faintest hint of surprise could be heard in Chester’s voice.

 

Merlin answered like he hadn’t heard it.  “No.  He’s an old school mate I keep in sporadic contact with.”

 

“Why on earth would he contact you?”  There was open condescension in Chester’s tone now.

 

Merlin shrugged.  “He’s aware that I do something vaguely government related.”

 

“Ah.”  That single syllable was enough to indicate he’d already dismissed the matter as serious entirely.  “How is this relevant to Kingsman?”

 

Merlin breathed in deep and slow through his nose before he answered.  “I’m not entirely sure.  I’d have to review the data first, but it’s supposed to connect the minister to Valentine and those odd disappearances.”

 

“I thought we had decided those weren’t worth the resources it would take to investigate, but if you have evidence that suggests otherwise, please share it.”  He smiled and spread his hands in front of him in an inviting gesture.

 

Merlin tightened his fingers around the edge of the clipboard until his knuckles turned white.  “The package could be that evidence.”  Chester had been an exemplary agent once; Merlin often wondered if he'd managed that despite his penchant for ignoring any intel from sources he deemed insignificant, or if this was a habit he developed after he got the desk job.

 

Chester nodded to acknowledge the point.  “Yes, it could be, or it could just be a bunch of meaningless numbers.”

 

Merlin clenched his jaw for a handful of seconds and then released it enough to answer. “That's a possibility, yes.”

 

Chester leaned back in his chair.  “But you still want me to send an agent on a pick up?”

 

Merlin hummed.  “I was under the impression that was what we did here at the secret spy agency, yes.”

 

Chester nodded.  “When we get information from someone other than your old chum, we do.”  There was just the slightest emphasis on the word “your,” just enough to be a dig at the fact that while Merlin had gone to a perfectly well respected school, it wasn’t one of the elite institutions all the other kingsman agents had attended.

 

Merlin scoffed.  “What does it matter where the information comes from if it's good?”

 

Chester looked supremely unimpressed.  “Therein lies your problem, Merlin.  What are the chances your information will be useful?  Do you really think our network wouldn't know if a Minister of State were involved in something?”

 

Merlin fought down the urge to sigh. This was not the first time they’d had a very similar argument.  “Unlikely, but not impossible.  I still think it's worth checking out; if it’s solid info, it could prove far more valuable than what Percival is currently working on.  I think it’s rash not to weigh the--”

 

Chester cut him off with a sharp shake of the head.  “When is the proposed delivery?”

 

Merlin glanced down at his clipboard like he was confirming, even though he knew the answer perfectly well. He couldn't look at Chester’s smug face feigning interest anymore.  “The minister is having a party on Friday.”

 

Chester smiled, self-satisfied.  “Well, there you have it then.  Isn't your cover i.d. perfectly suited for attending?  Feel free to look into it on your own, but this isn’t worth a Kingsman’s time.”

 

It was a real struggle not to snarl.  “As you say, Sir.”  Merlin didn't wait to be dismissed to get up and stalk out; Chester already found him dreadfully uncivilized anyway, what did it matter?

 

Hours later, Merlin was trying to locate the target of Harry's mission and still seething about Chester's refusal to investigate this information with the full weight of Kingsman’s resources brought to bear.  He typed furiously while monitoring Harry’s glasses transmission.

 

“You're actually going to go?”  Harry sounded bored when he picked up the conversation they had been having minutes ago like there'd never been a pause.

 

Merlin released the sigh of frustration he hadn't dared in front of Chester.  “I don't really have a choice.  William wouldn't have called if this wasn't legitimate.  He knows better than to waste my time.”

 

“Does he?”  The words were perfectly innocuous, but Merlin had been friends with Harry long enough to hear the innuendo anyway.  Harry was the only one who knew that Merlin had spent the entire summer after he graduated teaching William a few more lessons than just not to waste Merlin's time.

 

“Focus Harry,” he growled.  If pressed, he'd claim it was about keeping Harry sharp while in the field, not his lack of desire to talk about his long dead relationship with William.  He still hoped Harry didn't press.

 

On screen, Harry's hand came into view and flipped the page of his newspaper.  “So you won't be monitored?”

 

Merlin answered absently, his fingers dancing over the keys of his computer.  “I'll be recording, but not monitored.”

 

Harry flipped the page again and remarked casually, “This is the same minister that suspects kingsman’s existence and launched an investigation into that possibility, correct?”

 

“Yes.”  Merlin confirmed.

 

“And Arthur's sending you in without backup.”  Those words didn't come with any extra emphasis or inflection, but they still managed to imply censure.

 

Merlin chuckled.  “Technically I'm sending myself in.”

 

Harry sighed.  “You have my number.”  He’d been friends with Merlin long enough to know better than to tell Merlin to be careful.

 

Merlin felt a smile lift the corners of his mouth despite his best efforts to suppress it.  “I also have the location of your target.  Sending coordinates now.”

 

Harry was all business when he confirmed.  “Coordinates received.”

  
  


Expecting the quiet  _ ping  _ of his personal email all day was not quite the same as hearing it.  Charlie sighed and opened the message from his father, reading it quickly.  The missive was almost exactly what he'd been expecting, saying simply that his father requested a favor of him and to come at once to discuss.  Charlie shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against them for just a moment; he was alone in his office, he could afford that small crack in his composure.  Especially since there would be too many eyes on him for the rest of the day and showing this type of weakness would not be tolerated then.  It was always this way--his father always needed a “favor” and Charlie was always expected to be available to “come at once.”  Charlie might be a grown man, but to his father, he was still the little boy under his thumb.

 

Charlie sent a quick note to his boss that he would be working from home for the rest of the day to prepare for his father’s dinner party, then began packing up his things.  Where some might wait for a reply from their superior before preparing to leave, Charlie didn't bother-- he knew that the firm benefited as much from having his name on the letterhead as they did from his skill in the courtroom. Tonight he would mix and mingle for his father, but he would also network for the firm. It was win-win for his father and his employer. There was no way either one wanted him wasting time on trivialities like open cases--not when he could be spending the afternoon memorizing dossiers for the party’s key guests.

 

There wasn't much to gather.  Charlie, having expected a short day, hadn't bothered working on anything with a lot of files, and he was out the door five minutes after his father’s message arrived.  Just once he'd like to be able to resist jumping if his father so much as  _ implied  _ he'd like for Charlie to do so--or even more unlikely, be acknowledged for the speed and quality of the aforementioned jumping.  But Charlie didn't have time for pipe dreams today, he had marching orders to receive, personal details to learn, and guests to schmooze.  There just wasn’t room on the agenda to squeeze anything else in.

 

Mid afternoon found Charlie cooling his heels in his father’s waiting room. The urge to bounce his leg or tap his fingers against his thigh crawled beneath his skin like an itch he couldn't reach, but he ruthlessly ignored it.  If there was one single place where it would be the height of stupidity to show weakness of any sort, his father’s office--the center of his empire--was definitely it.

 

When he first arrived, there had been five minutes of small talk with his father’s long suffering assistant--the maximum either of them could afford, but the minimum necessary to keep up polite appearances--before they'd both gratefully returned to work.  Charlie wanted to blame his distraction on the steady click of her fingernails against the keyboard or the muted but constant ringing of her phone while he scrolled through emails on his mobile, but while he was almost as good at lying to himself as he was to others, he wasn't quite that good.  He tried valiantly to pay attention to the notes his intern had compiled on precedents for one of their cases and not think about how much more productive he could be at the office instead of waiting for his father to carve out some time to meet with him.  It was a failure as concrete as all his attempts to impress his father.

 

When his father finally summoned Charlie with a loud bellow, Charlie startled slightly and he hated himself for it.  A grown man should not flinch every time his father shouted; it was yet another weakness for others, his father included, to exploit and one Charlie had been working to eradicate his entire adult life.  It appeared he was still unsuccessful. 

 

Sitting behind his desk like a king on his throne, Minister Hesketh looked prepared to handle the meeting as efficiently as any other business transaction.  He didn't even greet his son, simply held out a folder for him to take the moment Charlie walked inside.  Obviously, he felt being behind a closed door meant he could focus on ensuring that Charlie would be ready for the party and his “favor” rather than appearing paternal.  Charlie was just another item to be checked off on his father’s list: VIP guests from around the world?  Check.  Sufficiently impressive wine selections in both red and white?  Check.  Son in attendance with special instructions for any task he required?  Check.

 

Charlie took the folder from his outstretched hand and stood awkwardly on the other side of his father's desk.  His fingers twitched with the need to flip the file open now and check out his assignment, to give himself an excuse for looking away from his father’s heavy stare.  He couldn’t look at his father, couldn’t watch him study Charlie, inspect him, measure him, and find him lacking--again.  

 

His father made him wait a few moments, sizing Charlie up the way he always did, before nodding at the guest chair in permission.

 

Now that he was finally allowed to sit, Charlie wanted to sag gratefully into the chair like a puppet with its strings cut.  He folded himself elegantly into a seated position instead.  There was a low noise in the background, and Charlie realized it was a conference call his father hadn’t disconnected from, simply muted his end and turned the volume low.  Apparently meeting with Charlie didn’t warrant the minister clearing his schedule entirely.

 

Minister Hesketh waited several minutes, probably listening to the current conversation, before the discussion seemed to reach a natural lull and he addressed Charlie.  “It has come to my attention that someone on my staff may be attempting to blackmail me.”  His tone was hard, but unaffected by that revelation.  If he were embarrassed over whatever this staff member had gotten their hands on, he didn’t show it.

 

Surprise hit Charlie like a blow, causing him to forget himself and ask, “with what?” before he thought better of it.

 

His father responded to that with a scathing look.  “I hardly think that's relevant.”  His pronunciation was more precise with his irritation.

 

The urge to look away, to break eye contact and back down under the force of the look, was near overwhelming-- but Charlie managed to resist.  Shame curdled in his belly like spoiled milk and he cleared his throat awkwardly.  “Of course, please continue.”

 

His father raised an imperious eyebrow to indicate his amusement at the idea of Charlie holding any control over this conversation and when it stopped or started, but he didn’t comment on the absurd notion.  He continued as if Charlie never interrupted.  “So far, I have been unable to discover which member of my staff it is, but I think I have identified another player.”  He nodded to the file in Charlie’s hands.

 

Now permitted to do so, Charlie flipped the folder open to reveal a few typed pages of information and a glossy photo of a handsome but kind of geeky bald man in glasses and a jumper.  He looked up at his father, requesting more information with his curious expression.

 

The minister tipped his head at the file.  “This man will be attending the party tonight.  I think he's working with the blackmailer and intends to receive the information tonight.”

 

Charlie looked back down at the photo while he considered that information.  “A sound plan.”  It’s what he would do if he were selling information about his boss--do it at an event where the buyer could be seen socializing with many guests so pinpointing the leak would be near impossible.

 

Minister Hesketh’s jaw clenched; he never admitted when others had good ideas unless it would directly benefit him to do so.  “Quite.”  He moved on swiftly, “I want you to stick close to him.  If you can prevent the transfer, fine.  At the very least, find out who he really is or who he works for.  My staff has been investigating and that man is no government consultant on technology.”

 

Charlie studied the way the man in the picture’s lips curved up before realizing he was staring at his mark’s mouth and redirected his consideration to the jumper and the glasses.  He looked harmless; Charlie had charmed hundreds of men like this before.  He would either be impressed by Charlie’s money, his wit, or how well he fit into his tuxedo and Charlie didn’t necessarily care which.  “Yes father.”  He didn’t anticipate it being hard to fulfill his father’s request.

 

Minister Hesketh nodded at Charlie once more.  “Make me proud.”  The words weren’t said with any paternal affection.  This wasn’t a father giving encouragement, it was a general giving orders.

 

It shouldn’t make his stomach clench with anxiety, not after Charlie had heard the same thing so many times, but it did.  He already knew what it felt like to displease his father--he carried that around every day--but the fear of failing him anew still made him queasy.  Those words were the carrot his father dangled to entice him, and foolishly Charlie chased it every time knowing he’d only get the stick.  Every time his father wanted something he’d implore Charlie to “make him proud,” but Charlie knew it would never actually happen.  Yet somehow, he always managed to convince himself that  _ this time  _ it would be different.  Charlie swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.  “Of course, Father.”

 

Having secured his son’s compliance, Minister Hesketh took his conference call off mute and turned his attention back to it, effectively dismissing Charlie.  Now that he had what he wanted, it seemed he had no more interest in his son’s presence.

  
Charlie turned and walked out, exiting as quickly as he could while still maintaining his decorum.  His fingers were shaking a little and his breathing felt a little short, but he couldn't think about that, or the hollow feeling creeping through his chest, right now.  He had a file on on Merlin McKnight to memorize.  He just didn't have any room in his schedule for a panic attack.

**Author's Note:**

> We would very much appreciate you taking the time to leave a comment with your thoughts. We use them to feed the plot bunnies!
> 
> Visit us on tumblr for more Merlie related shenanigans:  
> http://bulletproofsuitkink.tumblr.com/  
> http://twangcat.tumblr.com/


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